


It's the End Again

by thewanderess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence- Post Season 8 Finale, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewanderess/pseuds/thewanderess
Summary: After the angels fall, Dean, Cas, and Kevin race to save Sam before the effects of the trials kill him. Meanwhile Abaddon and the fallen angels wreak havoc on the world and threaten to undo everything they've fought for. Dean and Castiel become closer than either of them imagined they could. Set immediately at the end of the season eight finale.





	It's the End Again

**Author's Note:**

> Any foregin language mistakes in the rituals and spells throughout this work are my own, as I had no one that spoke the languages to check for errors.

The cool night air caressed Dean’s sweaty skin. Tall grass waved in the breeze around muddy lot of the abandoned church where the Impala was parked. The wet ground soaked his old jeans as he crouched in the muck, holding his shaking brother in his arms.

 

Sam let out a shuddering gasp for air, his trembling hand twisted in his shirt like a vice as they watched the sky light up like fireworks on the fourth of July. Hundreds of stars streaked across the inky black canvas above.

 

It should have been beautiful, watching heaven crash down around them. People everywhere would be watching in awe; children would be making wishes on the shooting stars, and fuck Dean wished he could be one of them. He wished he could still see something like this and regard it with wonder instead of fear.  

 

He couldn’t. It just made him sick.

 

Dean saw one of them falling nearby and thought he could hear screaming as it made contact with the earth. His gut twisted and he thought he might vomit because one of those lights in the sky was Cas. Broken, hurt, lost, confused. If he wasn’t dead already.

  
Dean felt himself go cold at the thought. No, he wasn’t fucking dead, he refused to even consider the idea that Cas could be gone again. They had to find him, they had to  _do_  something. Anything. His shaking hands clenched into fists and his breathing became labored as he fought to get himself under control.

 

From his side Sam let out a pained groan that snapped Dean from his panicked thoughts. He turned his attention to his brother- there was nothing he could do for Cas right now, and Sam was in bad shape. His long hair was dull and dead looking, skin pulled tight over sharp cheekbones. The dark circles under his eyes made him look harrowed and hungry.

 

The too thin hand Sam had tangled in his brother’s shirt tightened, and he groaned again, head thumping against his big brother’s chest. Dean held him close for a moment. Sam seemed so small and frail, like a child. He had to do something. The trials had done something terrible to his brother and he had to get help before it was too late.

 

“Sammy,” he said softly. There was so answer and Dean pulled his brother from his chest. “Sammy?” His head flopped forward limply, eyes closed. Fuck, he was unconscious. Dean felt the tight walls of panic threatening to close in around him again, but he couldn’t let them.

 

 _You’re fine,_  he told himself.

 

He took deep breaths in through his nose. Out through his mouth. He couldn’t afford to panic now. Not when Sam needed help.  _Get your fucking shit together, Winchester._

 

He took one more deep breath and gathered his brother in his arms again. His skin burned like it was on fire. Lifting with his legs, Dean stood and pulled Sam’s massive frame with him, grunting with effort as he half carried half dragged him to the passenger seat.

 

“‘Gonna be okay, Sammy. I'm gonna take care of you,” he panted as he opened the door. Dean managed to lay him on his side on the bench seat, long legs curled awkwardly in the floorboard. He lowered his head to the leather gently, supporting his neck like a baby, his heart tugging as he remembered doing the same thing when Sam was little. Holding him with gentle hands, afraid to hurt him. He felt the same now as he did then. Young, scared, helpless against something that seemed too big to defeat, but knowing he had to keep his brother safe.

 

He never thought he would have to protect Sam from himself. His brother had wanted to die, and it was his fault. The look on his face would be etched into his memory forever.

 

Dean felt his eyes burn with unshed tears and choked back a sob. And fuck, what was the point of holding it back, there was no one there to see him cry. He sat back in the dust, head between his knees, and let the tears fall hotly down his cheeks, breathing hard and fast, hands tangled in his hair tightly, pulling the golden strands until it was painful.

 

He couldn’t breathe so he lay flat on his back in the dirt, fighting for control as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and fell down the sides of his cheeks. The sharp scent of red clay and wildflowers filled the air. The crickets sang softly and the cool night air kissed his skin while the sky wheeled overhead and his heart shattered in his chest. He breathed deeply, trying to empty his mind. His eyes focused on the inky canvas above. He watched the heavens until he felt the sky might swallow him whole

 

When he felt he had better control over himself, he sat up slowly, wiping his puffy eyes on dirty sleeves. They had to get out of here. They needed to get to Kevin; maybe he had read something on the tablet about how to pull the plug on the trials.

 

But first he had to get Crowley out of the church where he was still handcuffed to a rickety old chair. He stood slowly, heavy with the weight of the world and walked to the back of the car. He fumbled in his pockets for the cool metal of the keys and used them to unlock the trunk. Weapons, old bags and possessions were shoved out of the way until he found a roll of silver duct tape.

 

With grim determination, he walked across the cracked ground and up the ramshackle steps, entering the rotting sanctuary of the church. He strode into the room and Crowley looked up at him, disheveled and dirty, cheeks streaked where he’d obviously been crying.

 

The demon smirked up at him, full of false bravado hiding fear. It did nothing but enrage Dean.

 

“Hello, darli-,”

 

Dean’s closed fist crashed into his jaw with such force the chair tipped over and sent him sprawling. The demon lay dazed as blood dripped from his gaping mouth and poured from his cut cheek and onto the dirty floorboards, handcuffs digging into his wrists.

 

“Shut the fuck up.” said Dean roughly. He pulled a long strip of duct tape from the roll with a loud ripping noise and tore it with his teeth, ignoring the way his hands shook.

 

“What are you going to do, Dean? Kill me?” Crowley was all swagger and arrogance, poison words spit from a mouthful of blood. A challenge.

 

Dean squatted down and grabbed the demon roughly by the face, staring into his eyes, hatred boiling in his veins.

“No,” he said, voice low and rough, his hand tightening so his thumb dug painfully into the bleeding gash he had just made on his cheekbone. “But by the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish I had.”

 

Crowley’s eyes widened in fear, struggling against his binds. Before he could utter another word Dean wrapped the strip of duct tape around Crowley’s mouth so he couldn’t speak and set to freeing him from the remnants of the chair. When he was free, Dean grabbed the handcuff chain and hauled him roughly to his feet.

  
The demon was dazed and limp from Dean’s strike, eyes unfocused and vacant as he was dragged to the still open trunk and dumped him unceremoniously inside. Crowley made a small grunting noise, pulling at his binds as Dean slammed it closed.

 

Work roughened hands held the cool steel of the car tightly to keep them from shaking. Everything was so fucked. He was so lost. The car started to rock and a low groan sounded from the open car window. Dean hurried to the driver's side and swore when he saw Sam, muscles convulsing as he seized violently  

 

“Sam!” he cried, and for a moment he sounded four years old again, holding the tight bundle of his brother in his arms. He crawled over the bench seat to his brother calling his name again. There was no answer.

 

“Sam? Shit, Sam!” Dean did the only thing he could think to do. He held him down so he wouldn’t hurt himself and let him ride it out. It seemed to go on forever. Dean felt utterly helpless. He wanted to rip into his brother’s body and destroy whatever the trials had done to him, but for now all he could do was hold him and brush his hair out of his flickering eyes.

 

When it was over Sam’s head was lolling, and Dean checked his airways to make sure he was breathing and wasn't going to choke on his vomit. When he was sure he was going to be okay for the time being, Dean settled himself behind the wheel. He lay Sam down on his side so his head was pillowed against Dean’s thigh, just like when they were kids. He let out a soft sigh and Dean brushed his hair out of his eyes, fighting the fear blooming in his chest. “It’s gonna be okay, Sammy. Gonna take care of you.”

 

Sam was hurt. He had to take care of him first, but then he needed to find Cas, wherever he was. Not just because he might be able to help, but because without his steady presence he felt like he might shake apart. Dean couldn’t lose him. He didn’t think he could survive losing anyone else. The car rumbled to life, and he squeezed his eyes closed tightly, white knuckling the steering wheel, forehead resting between his hands as if bowed in prayer.

 

"Cas, where the hell are you?" He whispered. "Come back to us man. Please,” his voice broke on the last word, pleading with someone he wasn’t sure could hear. “I don’t care that the angels fell, okay? We can fix it. I need you to come home. I need you to come back."

_I need you._   He didn’t say it aloud but it was a prayer all on its own, a litany in his heart.

 

He half expected a flap of wings, that gruff voice murmuring comforting words, but there was no answer. Dean fought back the bitterness threatening to consume him and started the engine, turning the car in the direction of the bunker. If Cas was okay, Dean knew he would make his way where he belonged. He would come home.

 

_Please come home._

 

*****

 

Castiel looked up at the sky and watched his brothers and sisters plummeting to Earth. His throat tightened and his eyes stung. For a moment he thought Metatron hadn’t actually healed the gaping wound he’d inflicted and he was dying, the knot in his throat was so painful. A drop of water cascaded from his eye and down his cheek.

 

How peculiar.

 

Then a choked noise came from his throat and he fell to his knees, chest heaving, broken sobs coming from his mouth. He brought a hand to his face and found it wet. Tears.

 

His first tears shed as a human, shed for his kin because of what he had done to them. Because he had destroyed them. So if these were tears then this crushing sensation in his chest like his heart was heavy with the weight of every life he had destroyed must be emotions.

 

Castiel lay down in the soft leaves and tried to identify each feeling as they washed over him in endless waves.

 

_Sadness. Guilt. Shame. Anger._

 

He had experienced some emotion during the apocalypse when he had fallen the first time, but it was nowhere near as intense as this. This was hell. This was Atlas, crushed under the weight of the world. He was just one small being, incapable of carrying the burden he had tried to hold. He was overwhelmed by the sheer humanity of what he was feeling. His breathing was too rapid, his limbs shaking uncontrollably, ugly sobs wracking his body until he feared he might break in two.

 

“Father!” he choked out, hands ripping through his hair, watching the sky wheel above him, making him small and insignificant. It had been so long since he’d prayed. “Why does it hurt?” There was no answer. There never was. Castiel screamed his anguish to the stars- they were cold and unfeeling like the father that had abandoned him. Abandoned them all.

 

Castiel focused on a single star, bright and distant pondering how frail they really were. What fragile things were souls and stars- both blazing with life, both destroyed the same way- a cosmic equivalent cut from the same cloth. He took a shuddering breath, eyes locked on that single cosmological constant high above him as he was bathed in silvery moonlight. As he lay there, Dean popped into his head. Dean. He had to do what Dean would do. Cas thought back to when he had first pulled him from Hell. Dean had been haunted by the memories and the guilt of what he had done there. He'd had nightmares, panic attacks, crushing guilt. He didn’t think he deserved to keep drawing breath. Cas knew different. Dean was a good man, a righteous man.

 

He had touched Dean's soul when he raised him from the pit, and all he felt was good. Cas had never felt anything more beautiful in all his existence. But Dean didn't see that. His mind was turbulent, his heart heavy, and yet he had carried on. Dean had shoved it all to the back of his mind and locked it in a steel box, never to be examined too closely.

 

If the Winchester’s could carry the burden of their sins, so could he. Cas closed his eyes, focusing on his memories of Metatron's betrayal, the agony of his grace being ripped from him, the screams of his fallen brothers and sisters, and most painfully, the look on Dean's face when he had asked him not to trust Metatron, and locked them away in his mind where they could not touch him. He couldn’t allow himself to break.  

 

His breathing slowed, the tears stopped, and his trembling vanished. He took several deep breaths, in and out, then sat up from his prone position on the ground, brushing dead leaves and dirt from his trench coat.

 

He had to think. He had to figure out what to do. There was nothing he could do for his fallen kin right now, not by himself. His best option was to get to Sam and Dean so they could try to fix his terrible mistake together. God, how could he have let this happen?  

 

He ran his hands over the stubble on his face, sighing.  He had to get to the bunker. That’s where the Winchesters would be, hopefully with Sam still alive and well. He felt a pang when he realized he could do nothing to ease his friend’s pain, or fix what the trials had done to him. They would have to find another way. Together.

 

Dean would have no way of knowing exactly where he had fallen, so logically it stood to reason they must have gone back to their home. Maybe it could be his home now if they wanted him after what he had done.

 

Cas had caused so much damage to the Winchesters and the world. Raising Sam from Hell and then keeping it a secret. Working with Crowley. Unleashing the Leviathan. Leaving Dean alone in Purgatory and then staying behind when his friend tried to save him. Naomi forcing him to beat Dean almost as badly as Lucifer had when he had taken Sam as a vessel. Taking the angel tablet, and now Metatron.

 

What if this was the last transgression he was allowed? What if Dean slammed the door in his face and he was all alone? Alone and mortal, responsible for the deaths of so many. He would deserve it, but the thought made him physically sick. He had to make it right. He couldn't lose the Winchesters. He couldn't lose Dean. He was his closest friend, more of a brother to him than even the other angels in Heaven had been. He couldn't bear it to lose Dean.

 

Cas needed to get to the bunker. He stood, ready to stretch his wings and take flight when he remembered. He had to press the heel of his hand to his mouth to choke back another broken sob.  He couldn’t fly. His wings were gone.

He shoved it away violently before he could begin to break again and put his brain to work. He didn’t have to be an angel to get to the bunker. Cas didn’t have any of Dean’s telephone numbers memorized or he would walk to the nearest phone and call him. Since that wasn’t an option, he had to find out where he was. Castiel did the only thing he could; he started walking. He walked and walked for hours, surrounded by dense forest. His feet throbbed with every step, sweat pouring off his skin. He could feel blisters forming inside the stiff dress shoes that had never bothered him before.

 

Every noise made him jump. He was by no means a coward, but he was unarmed and didn't like the idea of wrestling a wild animal in the dark. Eventually he came to a deserted highway, yellow lines stretching for miles in either direction. Cas remembered that humans sometimes hitchhiked.

 

He’d seen it in movies he had watched with Dean, and had seen men on the side of the road doing it when he rode in the Impala with the brothers. He stuck out his thumb, feeling foolish when he realized there was no car to flag down. There was no other option. He chose a direction and started walking, trying not to think about his aching bones and too hot skin, things he had never had to deal with before this.

 

Eventually, he came to a sign that announced that he was outside of Ottawa, Kansas.

 

Kansas! Of all the places he could have fallen, he was lucky enough to fall in the same state as the bunker. Cas might not have memorized Dean’s phone number, but he was there when the land was created, and he knew it like it was a part of him. He had just needed his bearings.

 

Ottawa was roughly 250 miles from the Bunker. If he could manage to steal a car, he could make it in about four hours. He knew how to hotwire a car. Dean had taught him.  _You never know when you might need it_ , he’d said with a shrug. Cas had been amused at the time since he could travel anywhere in the blink of an eye, but he had indulged him, and now he was glad he had.  

 

However useless he’d thought it at the time, he still watched, marveling with how at ease Dean looked as his strong, capable hands manipulated the wires under the dashboard. The memory made a warmth he didn't understand bloom in his chest, but he didn't mind. It put him at ease. Driving would be another problem altogether. Castiel knew the theory behind how to operate a motor vehicle, but had never had to do it before. He had simply willed himself across time and space. If he had to be in a car, someone else had driven. However, Cas was confident he could figure it out if he had to.

 

Having made his decision, he followed the curve of the highway and saw the lights of the small city. On the outskirts, there was a shabby motel. It was the middle of the night, and all seemed quiet. There was no one in the parking lot and no cameras in sight, so Cas decided to take a car from there. He saw a small blue vehicle, battered and run down like him, and decided this was the one. The emblem said Tracker. He was in luck- it was unlocked. He fiddled with some buttons under the dashboard and got the trunk to open. Inside he found a toolbox. He remembered that humans could track cars by their registration tags so he quickly found a screwdriver in the box and swapped the license plates with a nearby Honda Civic, working quickly so he wouldn’t be caught.

 

Castiel slid behind the wheel, and with a few fumbling movements, exposed the wires beneath the steering column. He stripped them the way Dean had shown him and tapped them together until the car rumbled to a start.

 

Cas smiled at his success. He put the car into drive and pressed his foot to the gas.  He used to much pressure and the car lurched forward, making his heart race as he slammed on the brakes. He took a deep breath, hand shaking, and eased his foot on the gas gently this time, pleased when the car moved smoothly. He directed the car to the highway and drove carefully, a sense of excitement overtaking him. He was going to the bunker. He was going home.

 

*****

 

Dean walked through the front door of the bunker carrying a sleeping Sam curled like a child in his arms. Kevin was frantically trying to shut off the alarms that were buzzing throughout the room, flashing light painting the walls red. His heart swelled as Kevin stopped what he was doing and looked up at him, big brown eyes full of question. Seeing a member of his little family made Dean feel calmer. Kevin’s eyes were wide and fearful as he rushed over to Dean. He gently laid his brother on a couch, brushing a stand of hair from his face as frantic half formed questions tumbled from Kevin’s lips. Dean straightened and raised a hand silently telling him to wait as he walked to the control panels. With a few deft presses of buttons the alarms stopped, leaving only a ringing silence echoing in the room. Dean turned slowly to face Kevin.

 

“What the hell happened, Dean?”  He demanded.

 

Dean’s heart started to pound at what he knew was about to happen. “In a minute,” he said gruffly. “Listen, Kevin. I need you to stay with Sam for a minute. I have to go back to the car. Then we’ll talk.”

“What’s in the car?” asked Kevin, eyes narrowing. Dean’s heart felt like it might break in two because of the pain he was about to cause the boy in front of him.

 

“It’s not what,” he said as he ascended the stairs, “It’s who.”

 

Dean popped the trunk and pulled Crowley from inside, forcing him to stand. He ripped the tape from around his mouth viciously, pulling bits of facial hair off, making him cry out. He wanted him to hurt like Kevin was about to hurt. For once the demon didn’t say anything, eyes wide and fearful.

“Now I want you to hear me, Crowley,” Dean growled, eyes dark. “I’m going to take you inside because I have plans for you. And you aren’t going to say a fucking word to Kevin. Not after what you did. Because if you do, I’m going to make it so, so much worse for you. And I’ll enjoy every fucking second of it. Do you understand?”

Crowley nodded, trembling violently under the hunter’s grasp, still weak enough from the agony of being made human that he didn’t try to fight.

 

Dean wouldn’t really hurt him. At least not badly. He wasn’t lie that anymore and he had other plans for the demon. But he wanted him to be afraid. He deserved at least that much. Dean walked him to the entrance of the bunker and forced him down the staircase, handcuffing him to rail when they reached the floor. Kevin’s back was to him as he tended to Sam and Dean’s heart sank at what was about to happen.

“Kevin,” Dean said softly.

Then boy turned, caught sight of Crowley, and froze his eyes burning past him into the demons. Kevin had a kind soul, but now as he looked at the creature that had destroyed his family, his gaze filled with more hate than one body should be were of holding. Kevin charged, and Dean was forced to restrain him, arms wrapping around the boy. Crowley's eyes went wide and he hastily took a few steps back, the metal of the cuffs clinging loudly against the stair rail.

"Let me go, Dean!" shouted Kevin, trying to get free.

Dean’s heart wrenched in his chest at the anguish on his young friends face. "No, Kevin, you gotta calm down buddy."

"Son of a bitch killed my Mom, I'll kill him! I'll kill him myself!"

Kevin screamed, fighting like a wild animal to get free, throwing wild punches and cursing the demon, cursing Dean, cursing the world. Dean held him fast and soon Kevin stopped struggling. He went limp and sobbed brokenly, clutching Dean’s jacket like a lifeline. Dean felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside at Kevin’s pain. He held his young friend to his chest tightly and let him cry it out, shielding him from the world with his arms as he howled in misery. Eventually his cries quieted to hiccupping sobs. Dean look up at Crowley, surprised to see tears streaking down the demons dirty cheeks.

Kevin wiped his face with trembling hands, eyes red and bloodshot. “Let me go.”

Dean did, trusting that he would be calm now. Kevin walked straight to the liquor cabinet and drank bourbon straight from the bottle before turning to face them. "Dean, what the fuck is going on out there? Why is  _he_  here? Did you close the Gates?"

Dean stood and retrieved two glasses before sinking onto the couch. “Bring the bottle,” he said.

Kevin sat across from him, pouring the liquid into the glasses, waiting for him to explain. Dean told him everything. Castiel showing up and asking Dean to help him close the Gates of Heaven, Naomi telling them it was a trick and Metatron was working a spell to make the angels fall, and that if Sam completed the trials he would die. Kevin inhaled sharply and looked at Sam.

"Is he gonna be okay, Dean?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, putting his head in his hands. "I almost didn't get there in time, Kev,” he said quietly. He tried hard not to think of the look on Sam's face when he had told him he would die if he finished the trials. Sam had just stared at him, and uttered a single, heartbreaking word:

_'So?'_

Dean felt Kevin’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing, offering him comfort, and he leaned into in, soaking it up.

"He didn't finish the trial, but he's really sick,” Dean continued. “We ran outside together and then the angels started falling. Cas didn't believe Naomi and took off to talk to Metatron. Asshole must have tricked him or something. I don't know where he is now."

Dean refused to believe that Castiel had willingly let the other angels be booted out of heaven. Cas may have screwed up royally a time or two, but he was good deep down where it counted. Dean just hoped he would come back to them. He couldn't even imagine being angry at the angel for this. They had been through so much together. Dean just hoped the feathery asshole was okay. They would deal with the rest as it came.

"So the angels are all human now?" asked Kevin, removing his hand from Dean in favor of refilling their glasses, interrupting his wayward thoughts.

"I guess," replied Dean, "I'm not really sure what's going to happen to them. I don't know if they’re going to have any powers at all. Maybe they'll fall like Anna did and be born as human babies. Or they could fall like Lucifer and still have some power left. We're going to have to do research."

Kevin looked at Sam, troubled. "First thing is we have to do is get Sam back on his feet. We can’t do this without him. I mean, it could just fade away like an illness, but I doubt it.”

Dean felt himself start to tremble again but it stopped when a warm hand touched his shoulder.

“Hey,” said Kevin softly. “He’s going to make it. I’ll read the tablet and see if there is a way to pull the plug once the trials have been started. We can fix this"

Dean felt his heart swell with affection for Kevin. The world was crashing down on them, and his first thought was taking care of Sam. He was a Winchester, through and through.

"Thanks, kid."

"Don't mention it." Kevin’s eyes fell back to Crowley, who was looking anywhere but the boy whose mother he had murdered. He looked utterly broken. "What are we going to do with him?" asked Kevin, his voice laced with contempt. “You got some kind of reason we can’t just kill him?”

"Sam was almost done with the demon cure when I stopped him. I figure we pick up where he left off. Finish the cure, make him human."

"What if he doesn’t deserve it?" asked Kevin roughly.

Dean thought about it for a moment. He wasn't really sure why not, except his gut told him it was wrong. He had been hunting long enough to trust an instinct like this, so he simply said, "He doesn’t deserve it. But I need you to trust me."

Kevin snorted with contempt, but seemed to accept that there was some kind of reason. Dean saw the trust in his eyes. “Fine,” he said. He turned and walked towards his room, the bottle gripped tightly in his hand.

Dean walked to Crowley. He wanted to hate the wasted creature in front of him, all tear tracked cheeks and anguish, but all he felt was pity. The demon reached out and gripping the leather of his jacket tightly as Dean helped him to his feet without speaking. Crowley allowed himself to be led to the dungeon without a fight, sitting in the chair in the middle of the devils trap pliantly. Dean busied himself attaching the handcuff to the cold steel when he spoke.

"You should just kill me," said the demon dully, "I don't deserve mercy, the things I've done ..."

Dean’s eyes widened as Crowley took a shuddering breath. "Dean," he said softly, "I'm sorry. For everything."

Dean looked into his bruised and bloodied face, streaked with tears and felt nothing but pity for the creature in front of him. He crouched down and looked the man before him in the eyes.

"Look,” he started slowly, choosing his words carefully. “It's obvious that you aren't the same Crowley that's been a pain in my ass for the last few years.”

The demon looked up in surprise, meeting his eyes as Dean continued. I'm not saying you aren't responsible for what you've done. I'm not saying I trust you. But you have a chance to atone for the things you've done. Maybe if you do enough good, it'll balance out some of the bad."

Crowley looked as if Dean's words were a life preserver thrown to a drowning man and nodded slowly, eyes solemn.

Dean gave him a pat on the arm, squeezing for a second before standing up. As he exited the room and closed the book shelf doors, Crowley bowed his head. If Dean didn’t know any better he would think he was praying.

The bunker was eerily quiet as he walked back to the control room where Sam was lying unconscious on the couch. Dean’s heart wrenched to see him lying there looking so young and peaceful. He carried his brother to his bed and covered him up like a child. When he was little, Sam used to pretend to be asleep on the couch so that Dean would carry him to bed and tuck him in. Dean had known Sam was awake but he hadn't minded. He just wanted his brother to be a kid for a little while longer. Dean remembered the only time he had tried it himself. He had pretended to be asleep on the couch, hoping his Dad would carry him to bed. When John had stumbled in the door reeking tequila he had kicked the couch and screamed for Dean to go the hell to bed before he fell face first onto the stained cushions and passed out drunk. Dean had never tried that again. He had never forgotten the crushing disappointment of it. He never wanted Sammy to feel that way, so every time Sam pretended, Dean scooped his little brother in his arms, carried him to the bed they shared, and gently tucked him in.

But this time, Sam wasn't pretending. He was fast asleep, and when Dean reached up and brushed his too long hair out of his eyes, his forehead was burning hot. Dean hurried to the kitchen to retrieve a cool cloth.

When he made it back to the bedroom, Sam's eyes were open. He was struggling to get something out of his pants pocket. When his hand breached the blankets, he had something Dean couldn't see clenched tightly in his fist.

Dean rushed over and sat on the side of the bed. "Heya, Sammy."

Dean leaned over to put the cloth on his brother’s forehead with trembling fingers. Sam’s free hand reached up and twisted in his shirt, and Dean covered his brother’s hand with his smaller one. Sam pulled him closer so he wouldn't have to talk too loudly.

"Hey, Dean, remember that time I got sick and Dad wouldn't take me to the hospital?"

Dean couldn't believe that Sam even remembered, he had only been four at the time, but he was desperate to keep him talking, so he nodded.

Sam continued, "I couldn't make it to the bathroom in time and I threw up everywhere. And I was afraid that Dad would be mad at me, but….. you told me it was gonna be okay. You cleaned me up and changed the bed and then you slept with me all night. Gave me medicine. Made me better. You remember that De?"

"Yeah, I remember, Sammy," said Dean. His voice almost broke, but he fought to keep it soothing. "I'm gonna take care of you now like I did then. Not gonna let anything happen to you, kiddo."

Sam sighed contentedly at that, and started to drift into unconsciousness, hand slipping from his brother’s shirt.

"Dean?" he muttered, eyes shut.

"Yeah, Sammy?" he choked out.

"You got rid of it, but I want you to have it back," mumbled Sam. And then he drifted back into unconsciousness, eyes flickering behind closed lids.

Dean wondered what he had meant when he saw a black string peeking from between Sam's closed fingers. He opened Sam's hand and saw his amulet, scratched and battered, gleaming gold in his palm.

Dean let out a choked sound, heart heavy in this chest. He had to get up, back away from the bed, and move to the hallway before he made a noise that awakened Sam. Dean put his back to the wall, slowly slid to the floor with his head in his hands, and let the tears he’d been holding back since he saw the sky collapsing, completely overwhelmed.

When he had thrown the amulet away it was because he had utterly and completely lost his hope. He didn't think the Apocalypse could be stopped. He had lost faith in God, in Sam, in Cas, and most of all in himself. The amulet had represented himself, and he had thrown it in the trash like it was nothing. He had regretted it later, but it had been too late to take it back. But his brother had waited until he had walked away, and dug it out of the trash, because he still believed. He still had faith in Dean. He had held onto it for all these years, and now he wanted him to have it back because he didn’t want him to give up like he had before. Sam still believed in him, still forgave him and fuck he still didn’t think he deserved it, but he couldn’t give up like he did before. No, he was going to fight this, even if it killed him.

Dean wiped his face and rose gracefully to his feet. He padded softly into the bedroom and approached the bed. When he reached Sam, he adjusted the cloth on his forehead tenderly, and took a deep breath. He reached for the amulet in his brother’s hand, picked it up, watching the light catch the designs, and put it back around his neck. As the familiar weight settled on his chest next to his heart, he felt complete again. He looked down and saw Sam's eyes had opened and were on him, and that he was smiling up at him.

Dean grinned back, bright as the sun. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam was still smiling as he drifted back to sleep.

* * * * *

Cas drove the stolen car down the highway, squeezing the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He was only fifty miles from the bunker, and he was pleased, but he had never experienced this level of discomfort before. His stomach was growling, his throat scratchy, and his eyes burned. When Cas caught sight of his reflection in the rearview mirror; he was pale with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes standing out in stark contrast. It was difficult to keep his eyes open; he knew he needed sleep but he was so close, he was almost there. His eyes start to drift closed, head nodding forward. Peaceful. Still.

A horn blared loudly, startling him. He was in the wrong lane, barreling headlong towards a tuck. He swore loudly and jerked the wheel hard to the left, avoiding the truck by inches. The car went off the road and he crashed in a ditch, head smacking the steering wheel hard, making him see stars. The truck didn’t stop.

Cas fumbled for the door handle in a haze and opened it, crawling out of the car. As he lay on the ground, he felt something wet on his forehead. He raised a hand to his head and when he pulled it away, it was red with blood from the deep gash on his forehead. Cas groaned loudly as a sickening wave of pain crashed through his skull. He lay in the grass for what seemed like forever before sitting up, fighting the dizziness that threatened to make him pass out.

Cas dragged himself back into the driver’s seat and turned the key to restart the engine. The motor made a pained screeching whine before it sputtered out again with a loud clunk. He groaned, trying to ignore the pain in his head and the blood trickling into his eyes while he thought of what to do.  There wasn’t another car around for miles, and he needed help, so he did the only thing he could do. He started walking towards the bunker.

* * * * *

A few weeks back Dean had discovered a small sanctuary tucked away in the back of the bunker. Apparently the Men of Letters had also been men of religion. The thought put a bad taste in his mouth, bitter like ashes. Dean walked down the small isle, letting his fingers trail absently over the hard wood of the pews as he made his way to the confession booth. Sam had done the same thing at the church. Dean could almost see it now, his brother’s fingers trailing the pews absently as he walked to confess his sins, a mirror image of him now. To confess to letting him down. Guilt consumed him at the thought that he had ever made Sam feel as if he wasn't important to him. Sammy was the most important thing to him; he came first, always.

Dean opened the door to the confessional and crammed himself into the narrow booth before sinking to his knees awkwardly. After a moment’s hesitation he pressed his palms together in front of his face, saying the words that always preceded any confession in the texts he had read.

“Bless me, for I have sinned. It’s been…. Well…. Never since my last confession.” He paused, listening to his deep voice echo in the empty space around him. He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment but he grit his teeth and made himself continue.

“I got a demon downstairs that needs curing and I need clean blood to do that. So, uh, whoever’s listening, hold on to your ass. Because I’ve done some bad shit.”

His voice broke on the final word, hands squeezing tighter. “I’ve killed people. I’ve destroyed lives and I need you to forgive me so that maybe, I can help someone else.”

Silence. Still.

 “Well, here goes,” he grumbled, heart in his throat.

He confessed many things. The drinking, stealing, and lying. Taking Sam from Jess, resulting in her death. The responsibility he bore for the death of his father. For Sam’s death, and shit, it didn’t matter which time, they were all his fault. For selling his soul, and the things he did in Hell. He could still hear the screams and feel Alistair’s hot breath in his ear, praising him. He confessed the words he regretted saying most in his life: "If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back!" By the time he got to Castiel being forced to rebel for them, he was quietly crying. For Adam, his poor brother Adam, still in Hell, dragged into a fight he didn't belong in and fuck, he should have gotten him out. He didn’t deserve it. When he mentioned Lisa and Ben, the family he could have had, he lost it, past the point of being able to be silent in his misery.  He mourned for himself, for his brother and his best friend, for every person he couldn’t save.  

But Dean's greatest sin, the one that twisted like a knife inside him, the one that made him put his fist through the confessional wall was making Sam feel the way he had in that church. How he was willing to throw his life away because he didn't want to let Dean down. Letting Sam down, that was his greatest sin.

When it was over, he opened the door and stumbled out of the narrow booth and lay down in the isle on his back, staring at the beautiful paintings of angels on the ceiling while his tears fell down the side of his cheeks, pooling on the hardwood floor. Looking up at the angels on the ceiling he thought of Cas and wondered if he was alright. If he was safe. If there was a way to find him.

He’d already been praying, what was one more? His eyes focused on a mural of an angel with huge black wings and prayed.

“Cas,” he whispered, “I don’t know where you are, but I need you here, so please, come back. Come home to us.”

Come home to me, he thought. There was no answer, so Dean picked himself up off the floor, straightened his shoulders, and walked out of the room, wiping tears from his blotchy, freckled face.  As he left, Dean felt like he left a dark part of himself behind. His heart was still heavy, but felt lighter than he had in years; since before he had gone to Hell. Maybe someone had been listening after all.

Determined to finish what they had started, Dean opened the book shelf that hid the room and entered the dungeon where Crowley was sitting compliantly. The demon was sitting exactly as Dean had left him, head bowed in the half-light of the room. Dean walked over to a set of drawers and pulled out a box of empty syringes. One by one, he filled them with his own blood, wincing as the needles pierced his skin, and laid them out on a sterile tray.

When it was done, he turned around to see Crowley looking at him, eyes full of fear and determination as the hunter approached him and slowly tilted his head to expose his neck.

Crowley met his eyes and gave a small now. "Do it, Dean."

He inserted the needle into Crowley's neck as gently as he could and pressed the plunger, injecting the King of Hell with his purified blood. Crowley groaned in pain, his neck a swollen mess from all the other shots he had endured from Sam.

Dean gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and disposed of the needle before pulling up a chair and sitting across from Crowley. The two men sat in silence, waiting for the clock to signify it was time for the next dose.

* * * * *

Castiel’s head throbbed, his legs burning like they were on fire. He had long since overheated and slung his battered trench coat over his shoulder to save him the heat. It hadn't helped much, so he had rolled the sleeves of his bloodstained white dress shirt up as well. His throat felt like sandpaper and his gut felt like it was turning inside out. Hunger, he mused, that's what he was feeling. It was nice to be able to identify the gnawing in his stomach. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do about it right now.

He’d been walking all night, watching the sun rise and travel like a wheel in the sky. He remembered when his father created it. He’d never cared for the sun, preferring the gentle light of the moon, but now he outright hated it and the burn that it left on the back of his neck. He had passed into Lebanon around noon, sticking his thumb out at passing cars, but not a single one had stopped to help him. Cas couldn’t blame them. No sane person would stop for a man covered in dried blood. He estimated that he was only a few miles away from the bunker now anyway. He was almost there. The gash on his head throbbed in time with his pulse and stung as sweat dripped down into the wound.

His mind kept going places he wasn't ready for it them to go. Earlier in the day he had thought of what had been done to him and out of nowhere felt the blade of Metatron slice his throat again. He had gasped for air with burning lungs, clawing at his neck while tears ran down his face and his heart raced, limbs trembling. He wasn’t sure what it had been, but he was afraid.

He felt as though he would drop unconscious in exhaustion, but he made himself go faster. He needed help. He needed to get home.

* * * * *

Dean injected the final dose of his blood into Crowley's swollen, bleeding neck, pulling it out as gently as possible before laying it on the tray.

He looked at the demon, eyes soft. "It's time," he said gently. “Are you ready?”

Crowley looked up at him, brown eyes full of anguish and exhaustion, highlighted by dark circles bruising his skin. "I'm ready." He said with finality.

Dean’s heart raced as he cut his shaking hand with his pocket knife, drawing a line of blood, hissing at the burn of the blade. When it was dripping blood he approached Crowley, hand hovering in front of his face while blood dripped down the pale flesh of his arm, hesitating. Crowley looked up at him with pleading, anguished eyes. "Finish it, Dean. Please."

Dean steeled himself, taking a deep breath, and sealed his bleeding hand over Crowley's mouth as he began to recite the incantation.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustras, lustras!"

There was a blinding flash of white light that momentarily blinded Dean, and a wild wind whipped around them both, ripping at his clothes. When the room darkened again, Crowley was slumped unconscious in the chair. Dean rushed forward, heart in his throat, and felt for the pulse. When he felt the jump of his heart under his skin he was flooded with relief.

Dean unlocked him from the demon handcuffs and lifted the man from the chair into his arms, carrying him to one of the extra bedrooms. He lay him gently on the bed, lowering his head to the pillow. He felt a pang of guilt as he cuffed one of his wrists to the headboard with normal, police grade cuffs. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know who Crowley would be when he woke up. Better to be safe.  

Dean closed the door quietly and sighed as he headed down the hall. He stopped to check on Sammy on his way to the kitchen. His brother’s breathing was even and when he touched his forehead, his fever was down a little. Dean exited the room and went straight to the liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle and heading straight for the leather sofa. He didn’t bother with a glass as he drank the amber liquid straight from the bottle.

Dean was exhausted, but his mind was racing. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad. Maybe Crowley would be great now that he was human. Maybe Sam would recover like it was just a cold and everything would be fine for once.

Except it wouldn't be fine unless Cas was around. His heart squeezed as he thought of his friend. They had been through so much together, and Cas had changed so much. Dean remembered the first time they had met. He had stabbed him, and somehow it made them friends. He remembered the first time Cas had spoken in that barn, his voice so much deeper than it should be coming from that body.

_I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

Dean had never understood the full extent of what that meant until the night before they tried to kill Lucifer with the Colt. Cas had told him the whole riveting tale: how he and his garrison had lain siege to Hell. How he had slain hundreds of demons with his bare hands to get to him, and then he had pulled him topside. It was impossible not to be friends with someone who had done all of that to save you.

Cas had gone from this powerful celestial being, to an almost human who called an archangel an ass-butt because he didn't know how to swear properly. He’d figured it out soon enough, though. Dean smiled at the memory. Castiel had wormed his way into Dean's heart and had never left, even when Dean was pissed at him. Cas was special to him in a way he didn't want to examine too closely. It was exhilarating, confusing and terrifying.

He let out a sigh and took another long pull from the bottle when there was a loud banging on the bunker door. Dean tensed immediately, thinking of demons and fallen angels and a million other things that could want to hurt them. The banging continued, louder now. Dean set the bottle down and snatched up his handgun from the table in front of him. He moved quietly to the door and wrenched it open, pointing the gun into Cas's bloodstained face.

Dean's mind went into free fall, spinning out of control with relief. It was dizzying.

"Hello, Dean," said Cas, his voice low and weary.

Dean immediately lowered the gun and stepped closer, his heart pounding. Cas reached out with his right hand and closed it over the brand he had left on Dean's skin. The angel had never had a great grasp on personal space, but right now Dean couldn't care less even though they were almost chest to chest. Warmth bloomed from the point of contact and seeped into them both, reassuring them that this was real, that they were alive. They just stared at each other, sharp green eyes locked on piercing blue. Cas looked awful. His forehead was caked in dried blood, his lips were cracked and bleeding, and his clothes were dirty.

Cas stepped closer so they were touching, the pleasant warmth he didn't understand blossoming in his chest again, his eyes intense. "Dean, I came home," he whispered.

Then without any preamble whatsoever he collapsed, unconscious.

"Cas?" he yelled alarmed. Dean caught him in his strong arms and lowered them both to the ground, holding him close. He held his hand in front of his mouth and when he felt the tiny gusts of air that meant he was alive, he sagged in relief, burying his face in his dirty white dress shirt. Dean got up, carried Cas to the couch and laid him down gently. He looked over his strong body, checking him for major or obvious injuries. As he rushed for the first aid kit, Dean thought about what Cas had said with a small smile. Cas was where he belonged. He was home.

*****

 

Cas felt peaceful. He was sprawled out on something impossibly soft and warm. He sighed and rolled over. At the movement, a sickening pain exploded in his head. His eyes sprang open and his vision was full of Dean. The hunter was sitting in a chair beside the couch Cas was on, watching him. His face was perfectly blank, his eyes unreadable. Cas sat up slowly, wincing at the throbbing in his head.

 

"Hello, Dean," he said quietly.

 

Dean didn't answer. Castiel's heart was in his throat because Dean was obviously upset. This was it, he was going to throw him out, and he would deserve it. Dean stood and pulled Cas roughly from the couch by the lapels of his coat, staring intently at his face. Cas closed his eyes and waited for fists to rain down on him. He would not lift one finger against Dean to stop him; he would never strike his friend again after what happened with Naomi. But the blow never came. The next thing Castiel knew, he was in Dean’s arms. He had jerked him forward by the coat and wrapped his arms around him tightly.

 

Dean was hugging him. Not like he had in Purgatory, when he had radiated tension and weariness and fear. This time Dean exuded relief and happiness to see him. Cas’ His eyes sprung open in surprise. When he Cas had been an angel, he had never hugged Dean back. He didn't see the point. Hugs held no comfort for him. But inexplicably, warmth radiated throughout Castiel's body. Happiness, he thought. This is happiness. For the first time ever, Castiel raised his arms and wrapped them around Dean's waist, holding him tight. At the contact, everything he had been ignoring came rushing back, and he couldn't stop the tears that suddenly spilled from his eyes. He gasped, trying to hold it all in.

 

"Shhhh. Hey, Cas, buddy, it’s okay. I gotcha."

 

And that was it. Cas couldn't keep it in inside any longer. He buried his face in Dean's shoulder and started sobbing. Dean navigated them both so they were sitting on the couch and held his friend while he cried. He felt none of the awkwardness that he had when it had been Kevin crying. He just held Cas like he had held his brother when Sammy was little and gotten upset: rocking him gently, stroking his hand through Cas' dirty hair, and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Cas started babbling between sobs. He told Dean everything; about him confronting Metatron, and Naomi's death. When he got to the part about how Metatron had tied him down and cut out his grace, Dean tensed. Cas just kept going, getting more and more hysterical. He cried even harder and said, "And my wings are gone Dean. After my grace was taken they were just ripped from my body. I begged for it to stop. Dean I can't fly anymore, I don't..."

 

After that Cas was incoherent. He sobbed like he was broken. Dean closed his eyes in pain at the agony Cas had been forced to endure. After all the times Dean had prayed to Cas, this time Cas had prayed for Dean to save him, and Dean hadn’t been there. He was filled with rage at what Metatron had done, and swore in that moment to make him pay. He held his friend close, until Cas had cried himself out. When he pulled away there was a big wet spot on Dean's shirt.

 

"Feel better?" he asked.

 

Cas thought about it and tilted his head to the side. "Yes, although I don't understand why. This has changed nothing."

 

"You're human now, Cas. It doesn't have to make sense. Sometimes people just feel better after they cry. It's the way we are."

 

Cas looked up at Dean. Their eyes locked. Something Cas didn't understand was happening to his heart. It had picked up speed, electricity was crackling through his veins, and he felt heat in his cheeks. Dean's gaze darkened, eyes darkening like the leaves of trees in a thunderstorm. Castiel might not have understood what was happening, but he did know he didn't want it to stop.

The spell was broken when Castiel's stomach let out a huge growl. Dean chuckled and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

 

Cas frowned eyes darting down his body and Dean smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Cas looked like an irritable puppy and it was downright adorable.

 

"You're hungry, Cas. You should take care of your body now that you’re human. You know, eat and sleep. And shower. You go shower, it’ll probably make you feel better. I'll find you some clothes and fix you some grub."

 

Cas smiled at the prospect of cleaning up and nodded gratefully, standing up. Dean led Cas to the bathroom. He thought he might need to show him how to use it, but Cas turned it on by himself, his long fingers testing the water until it was steaming.

 

Cas looked up at Dean, a small smile tugging one corner of his mouth up.

 

“Thank you, Dean.”

 

Dean felt his cheeks start to turn pink and mumbled that it was no problem before leaving Cas alone to shower. He headed down the hall to his room. After a few moments of rummaging through the drawers, He found a pair of jeans with the knees ripped out and an old AC/DC shirt that had shrunk in the dryer. They looked like they would fit. Dean grabbed a pair of boxers and some socks and headed back to Cas. He opened the bathroom door to set the clothes on the counter and saw the silhouette of Castiel, naked. Dean’s mouth went dry, and his breathing deepened. He left the clothes and quietly closed the door behind him.

 

Dean headed to the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for cheeseburgers. He absently threw them in the pan, lost in thought. Dean hadn’t been attracted to a man in years. He had never told anyone except Sam, but Dean was bisexual. He had never slept with a guy; the furthest he had ever gotten was getting jerked off by Mitchel Robertson when he was seventeen. He had never met a man he cared for enough to sleep with, but Dean couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Cas. He had been for years; he had just never done anything about it because of the whole angel thing. But now Cas was human like him. Dean let out a sigh. He couldn’t approach Cas with this. He had just become human. How could he expect someone experiencing human emotion for the first time to understand something he didn’t even understand himself? No, he couldn’t do that to Cas, especially not while he’s learning who he is as a person. He was terrified to mess things up between them. He couldn’t lose him. Friendship would have to be enough.

 

Dean frowned and pulled the burgers out of the frying pan. He topped them with cheese, onion, tomato, and ketchup and put a mountain of Doritos on each plate. When he turned around, Cas was standing in the doorway watching him. He looked amazing. The t shirt fit just right, tight around his chest. Something about Cas wearing Dean’s clothes made him feel warm. His hair was fluffy and stuck up in all directions from the vigorous towel drying it had received, his blue eyes were curious and soft, studying every move Dean made. It took his breath away.

 

“That was more pleasant than I thought it would be,” said Cas, running his fingers through his hair so it stood in even worse disarray.

 

Dean smiled at his friend. “That’s good buddy.”

 

Dean gestured at the table. Cas took a seat, watching Dean. His head still hurt, but the shower had made him feel less sore. He picked up the food and took a tentative bite. Flavor exploded over his taste buds. The noise that came out of his mouth was positively pornographic. Cas dug in and Dean set a can of Pepsi from the twelve pack on the counter on the table in front of him. Cas drank, eyes widening at the flavor as the scratchy feeling in his throat vanished. He drained the can in a few large gulps and Dean smiled and replaced it with a bottle of water. He was probably dehydrated or some shit, so mainlining Pepsi probably wasn’t the best idea. Cas scowled but unscrewed the plastic cap and drank the water greedily before digging back into the burger. Dean was reminded of the time that Cas had been taken from his vessel. Jimmy Novak had eaten with the same intensity. Dean felt his forehead crinkle at the thought of the other man.

 

“Cas, if you’re human, what happened to Jimmy?” he asked.

 

Cas took another bite. “When God resurrected in the cemetery, it was without Jimmy. His soul is at rest in Heaven.”

 

Dean nodded, relieved. Castiel finished his food. His fingers rubbed at his temples. The action caused his head wound to reopen and trickle a small stream of blood down his face. Dean hopped up and threw a clean dishtowel to him. Cas caught it and pressed it to his head and Dean gathered his supplies. He grabbed some Tylenol from a drawer and gave a few pills to him. Cas washed them down with the water as Dean grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink.  

 

“I’m gonna clean that up, okay? It might hurt.”

 

Cas nodded his assent and Dean pulled out peroxide, Derma Bond, gauze squares, and tape. He cleaned the gash of Castiel’s forehead with peroxide with practiced ease, feeling pangs of guilt as the other man winced in pain.

 

“How’d this happen anyway?”

 

“I crashed a car,” said Cas.

 

Dean’s hand paused their ministrations. “You were driving?” he asked alarmed.

 

“I learned from you and Sam.” Cas frowned. “Where is Sam?”

 

“He’s sleeping. The trials did something to him. Cas, do you know if he’s going to get better?”

 

“I don’t know.” Cas looked sad. “If I still had my grace I might be able to detect what ails him, but without it we have no way of knowing. We will simply have to research until we find a way to fix this. We will help Sam.”

 

Dean nodded then went back to cleaning the abrasion on Castiel’s skin. “This is pretty deep, Cas.”

 

“Will it require stitches?” asked Cas.

 

“Nah, I have something else here.” Dean picked up the bottle of Derma-bond. He squirted a line into the cut and squished the sides together. When the liquid stitches had dried, the gash was held together. It now looked like a thin scratch. “Good as new,” said Dean. Cas still looked sad at the thought of Sam, so Dean winked obnoxiously and said, “Gotta keep you looking pretty.”

 

A pink flush rose to Cas’s cheeks at the words and he smiled softly. It was gorgeous. Castiel never smiled much as an angel, but his new humanity was bleeding through. Human expressions were coming naturally to him now. His eyes crinkled at the corner, bright blue and sparking with mischief; dimples popped up on his cheeks. Castiel’s smile was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. He blinked rapidly and shook his head as if to clear it. “I, uh, I need to take some food to Crowley.”

 

Cas nodded and started eating Doritos out of the bag. Dean took the extra plate down the hall to Crowley’s room. He opened the door to find Crowley awake, staring blankly at the wall. He looked up as Dean entered the room.

 

“Hey. I brought food.” Crowley just blinked. Dean sighed and approached the bed, retrieving the handcuff keys from his pocket. He unlocked the smaller man from his bonds.

 

“You’re letting me go?” asked the former demon, incredulous.

 

“Not quite,” said Dean. “I’m letting you out of the cuffs, but you can’t leave the bunker. There’s no telling what would happen to you out there. So I’ll unlock these, but you aren’t leaving this bunker.”

 

Crowley nodded and Dean unlocked the cuffs. The former demon rubbed his wrists to ge the blood flowing again. Dean waved for him to follow and showed him where the bathroom was before heading back to Cas.

 

Cas was waiting for Dean when he returned. “May I see Sam?” he asked.

 

“Of course, dude. You don’t have to ask.”

 

They got up from the table and took off to Sam’s room. Cas looked at Sam’s face with sorrow. He looked younger and more vulnerable in his sleep than he ever did when he was awake. He wished he could take all his pain away; he didn’t deserve this.

 

Castiel looked up at Dean. “Do we know what the trials did to him yet?” he asked.

 

“Not yet. Kevin is working on it.” As if on cue, Kevin burst into the room. He didn’t even seem to notice Cas. “Dean, I have to talk to you,” he said.

 

Dean ushered him out of the room and into the hall. “The tablet,” The Prophet began, “I found something on it. It talked about how the trials cleanse the person doing them. It purifies them; expels evil from their body.”

 

Dean was drawing up a blank, but Cas understood. “The demon blood,” he said, “The trials were cleansing Azazel’s blood from his body. That’s why his molecular structure was changing.”

 

Dean looked confused. “Isn’t that good? Getting rid of the demon blood?”

 

“Yes, it should be,” said Cas, “But not when he is stuck halfway like this. The imbalance in his blood is killing him. His body has had demon blood his entire life. Without it his organs will slowly stop functioning. We have to do something, or Sam is going to die.”

 

Dean was as white as a sheet. “Skip to the part about how to fix it,” he said roughly. Castiel closed his eyes and thought for a moment, sifting through the vast store of knowledge in his head. “We have two options. We can give Sam more demon blood -“

 

“No,” said a voice behind them. Sam had woken up. He was unsteady on his feet, but he looked determined.

 

“Sammy -” started Dean.

 

“No,” he said firmly, “Find something else. I’d rather die than go down that road again.”

 

Castiel continued before there was an argument. “There is another option. We could find a way to finish purifying Sam’s blood. If we can find a powerful enough cleansing ritual, we can finish what the trials started. But those are our only two options, and we have to hurry, or you are going to waste away, Sam.”

 

“Well then, looks like we’ve got work to do.”

 

* * * * *

 

Castiel was sitting in a field. It was nice; there were flowers and insects everywhere. He felt at peace. But then the sky darkened. Lightening cracked across the horizon. Suddenly there was a loud noise behind him. He turned around and saw Dean fighting with a demon. It hit him over and over again, bloodying his face. Cas started running at him. He heard the sickening crunch of bone as Dean’s nose broke.

 

“Dean!” he screamed. The demon turned and saw Cas. An evil smile took over its face and its eyes flashed pure black. It wheeled around, pulling a knife from its jacket. “Dean, look out!” he screamed. The knife glinted wickedly in the lightening flashing through around the sky, before it was plunged into Dean’s heart. “No!” screamed Castiel. The demon vanished, and Cas finally reached his hunter. “No, no, Dean, NO!”

 

“Cas,” whispered Dean through bloodstained lips.

 

“I can heal you, Dean. I’ll heal you, it’s okay.”

 

Castiel laid his hands on the hunter and reached for the familiar pull of his grace swirling inside of him. There was nothing there.

 

“No,” he said. He laid his hands on the hunter. Nothing happened. “No, no!”

 

“Cas,” whispered Dean. A shuddering breath was released from his mouth. Dean was dead.

 

“Dean?” Cas shook him and he lay unmoving, his beautiful green eyes open and seeing nothing. Castiel began to scream.

 

Dean was jolted awake by a bloodcurdling scream. He sat upright as the screeching started again. It was Cas. Dean threw the covers off, grabbed his handgun off his nightstand and sprinted for Castiel’s room. He burst through the door to see Cas thrashing in his bed, his legs tangled in the blankets. His eyes were screwed shut and he was sucking in breath to scream again. Dean dropped the gun on the floor and ran to the bed.

 

“Cas!” he shook him hard. “Cas, wake up!”

 

Castiel’s eyes flew open. “Dean?”

 

“Yeah, Cas. You okay?”

 

“Dean, I don’t understand, you were dead. I couldn’t save you, Dean. You died.” His voice broke, and Cas flung himself into Dean’s arms shaking.

 

“I’m okay, Cas. It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real.”

 

“Dean.” Cas just held him close and trembled. When he was still again, Dean pulled back and looked at his face.

 

“You okay?” Cas shook his head. “Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

 

Cas took a deep breath and told him the dream. When he was finished there were tears in his eyes. He looked at the hunter like a man in the desert who had found water. He tentatively raised his hand and placed it on Dean’s muscular chest over his heart. When he could feel Dean’s heartbeats, he noticeably relaxed. Dean’s breathing deepened and his eyes fluttered shut. Castiel felt something he didn’t understand begin to rise inside of him. His blood quickened and his breathing sped up. He had no idea what to call the emotion rising inside of him until the flesh between his legs began to harden and ache.

 

Desire. This was desire.

 

Castiel was utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. He and Dean had always shared a profound bond. He had never suspected that their bond ran this deep, but now that he was freed from the emotionless mindset of an angel, it felt nice. It felt right, but he had never felt desire before; he didn’t know what to do about it, or if Dean could ever feel the same.

 

Dean was looking into his angel's eyes. The normally bright blue had darkened to the turbulent cobalt of a stormy sea. He watched Castiel’s breathing speed up and his lips part. He was so beautiful, Dean wanted nothing more than to close the short distance between them and press their mouths together. It would be soft and warm. He wanted to nip and suck at those perfect lips, and tangle his fingers in the downy locks of his hair.

 

Dean stood suddenly, trying to get away before he did exactly what he was thinking. “Are you good, Cas?”

 

“No,” said Cas, averting his eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll have another nightmare.” He looked embarrassed, but whispered, “Will you stay with me?” He looked up at Dean, smoldering eyes ringed with thick, smoky lashes.

 

Dean didn’t stand a chance. “Okay, yeah.” answered Dean in a husky voice. He approached the bed and pulled back the covers. Castiel lay down and made room for Dean to slide in next to him, close but not touching. The hunter was a furnace radiating heat. They both relaxed and were soon fast asleep.

 

The next morning, Cas woke in Dean’s arms. He felt warm and safe. His head was resting on Dean’s chest, arms wrapped around his waist, their legs tangled together. Cas allowed himself to bask for a moment when Dean began to stir. Castiel pretended to be asleep. He didn’t know how Dean would react and he wanted to give him an opportunity to leave without awkwardness. That’s when he felt plush lips press to his forehead in a soft kiss. Dean squeezed him a little tighter and gently extracted himself. When Cas heard the shower start, he opened his eyes and smiled. It appeared Dean knew exactly how profound their bond was. He just had to show him that he knew it too.

 

****************

 

Dean brought steaming plates of cheesy eggs and bacon to the table for Castiel, Kevin, and Crowley. When Dean handed the former angel his plate, their fingers brushed. Electricity jolted through Dean’s veins from the light touch. Cas smiled up at him and dug into his breakfast with gusto. Dean was once again taken aback by how beautiful his smile was. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners was adorable.

 

Humanity suited his angel well.

 

Dean remembered how Cas had looked this morning, sheltered by his body; he had awakened to an arm full of angel and loved every second of it. Castiel had looked so sweet and untroubled in his slumber, Dean couldn’t resist pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before easing himself out of bed. Dean shuffled back to the stove and moved the bacon around in the pan, trying (and failing) not to think about how much he wanted it to happen again. There was a shuffling noise behind him. Sam was making his way into the kitchen.

 

Sam was a shadow of himself. He was losing weight rapidly and his skin was pale. Dean resolved to make him eat. He wasn’t going to wither away under his watch. Sam’s facial expression changed from happy to shocked and confused. He had noticed Crowley, eating his breakfast and drinking tea. Sam stumbled over, grabbed his older brother by the elbow and steered him into the privacy of the hall.

 

“Dean, why is the King of Hell eating breakfast in our kitchen?”

 

Dean explained what he had done to Crowley while he had been sleeping. Sam paled even further.

 

“You didn’t fucking think to talk to me first, Dean?”

 

Dean was surprised by the vehemence in Sam’s voice. “No, I didn’t, Sam. You were sick. Besides what was I supposed to do? Let the King of Hell go waltzing back into the world?”

 

“Yes,” Sam looked freaked out, and Dean was instantly on alert.

 

“What’s going on, Sammy?” Dean asked authoritatively.

 

“Abaddon showed up during the last trial. Tried to kill Crowley. She wanted to run Hell.”

 

Awesome. That’s all they needed.

 

“How’d you get rid of her?”

 

“I molotoved her with holy fire,” Sammy said.

 

Dean snorted as he imagined that bitch going up in flames and Sam smiled weakly.

 

“So, what’s the big deal with Abaddon and Crowley?”

 

“Abaddon has zero competition now that Crowley is out of the picture.,” said Sam, running his fingers through his ling hair. “Someone has to run things in the pit. She’s going to be Queen of Hell. I was just thinking maybe it would have been better to have the devil we know instead of the devil we don’t.”

 

“No,” said Dean. Sam’s eyebrows shot up and he opened his mouth to retort, so Dean rushed on. “Look, Sam, I don’t really understand it, but my gut tells me this was the right thing to do. I just have this feeling like Crowley is going to be important. I don’t get it, but I trust it. Not trusting your instincts is what gets you killed.”

 

Sam chewed on his lip for a second, like he was considering his older brother’s words. Finally he let out a puff of air that blew his hair out of his eyes and said, “Fine. It’s too late now anyway. Just talk to me next time, Dean.”

 

“Sure,” said Dean.

 

They went back to the kitchen to eat. Sam just pushed his food around on his plate. Castiel drank cup after cup of coffee, and Kevin kept shooting murderous glares at Crowley.  They were going to have to do something about the Kevin-Crowley situation. Dean started clearing plates when he heard a loud, wet cough. He turned and looked at Sam. His palm was red with blood. Sam doubled over and started hacking. He stumbled to the trashcan and made it just in time. His shoulders heaved and he vomited what little he had managed to eat.

 

“Sammy!” Dean dropped the dish towel he was holding and moved to his little brother. Sam swayed, so Dean held him upright while he dry heaved over and over. When he looked up, he was sweaty and so white he looked transparent. Dean guided him to a chair to sit. When he turned Castiel was standing next to him, holding a glass of water.  “Drink, Sam.”

 

Sam drank gratefully, eyes closed, hands trembling. “Thanks, Cas,” he whispered.

 

“It is no trouble, Sam.” Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes. His hunter seemed afraid. Cas wanted to reach out and brush his fingers over the crease on Dean’s forehead. He always got it when he worried about something. But Castiel didn’t know how Dean would react.

 

The best he could do for now was to help Sam. Castiel pulled one of Sam’s muscular arms over his shoulder, supporting him. Dean seemed to get the message and did the same on the other side. As a team they guided Sam down the hall to his bed, supporting his weight. By the time they made it the youngest hunter was almost completely unconscious. Dean guided his head to the pillows, and stared at his brother’s face.

“Dean,” said Cas, “We need to begin research. That is the best way we can help Sam now.”

 

“Dean looked at his brother like he was afraid he would never see him again before fleeing to the hallway. The fear written on his face was heart breaking. Cas would do anything for Dean to never look that way again. Castiel followed him to the hallway and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. When he turned, fear still blazing out of control in his eyes, Cas reached up and touched the other man’s face gently, turning him so he had to look at him. Dean relaxed and leaned his face into Castiel’s palm, sighing. His eyes were closed and the crease that Cas hated vanished. He brushed his thumb gently over Dean’s cheekbone.

 

Both men’s breathing deepened and sped up. Dean’s eyes opened; the sight made Cas’ mouth go dry. They were half lidded, dark emerald green ringed with thick lashes. The cinnamon dusting of freckles on his cheekbones stood out in contrast to the lovely blush spreading across his face.  Cas took a step closer. He may not know exactly what to do with his desire, but this seemed like a good place to start. He could feel the welcoming body heat radiating off of Dean’s body in waves. Dean’s pupils were blown wide with lust. Cas leaned in closer to press their lips together; Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. Their lips were a hairsbreadth apart when Sam let out a loud snore from the room. They leapt away from each other guiltily, like teenagers caught kissing.  

 

“We should go to the library,” blurted Dean, his face aflame. He turned to leave, but not before he saw the disappointment on Castiel’s face, or the evidence of the other man’s arousal straining at his jeans. He left the room, his head spinning. It looked like Cas felt the same as Dean; maybe this could work. Dean felt hope flare in his chest. He felt confident enough to make his move. But first they had to fix Sam. Sammy always came first.

 

* * * * *

 

Dean banged his head down on the table in the library, groaning loudly. Castiel didn’t look up from the Latin scroll he was reading, but he did nudge the hunter with his foot. Dean grumbled, but took his cue and kept digging through his book on Wiccan cleansing rituals. Crowley and Kevin were also reading through dusty tomes. Things were a little easier between the two of them now. Crowley had called Kevin out of his room yesterday. They had sat and talked for about an hour. Dean had no idea what was discussed, but the former demon and the Prophet were on speaking terms and working together now, which was a vast improvement over the glaring and awkwardness.

 

They had been in the Men of Letters library for three days, and had a big steaming pile of nothing to show for it. Sam was getting worse every day; he couldn’t even get out of bed except for a short trip to the bathroom. They had to find something soon, or Sammy wasn’t going to make it much longer. The thought made his blood run cold; Dean dove back into his book, redoubling his efforts.

 

Castiel suddenly sat up straight, his muscles tense, reading with complete concentration.

 

“Cas?” intoned Dean. Crowley and Kevin eagerly looked up from their books.

 

“I believe I found something, Dean,” said Cas excitedly.

 

There was silence for a few moments; finally Dean couldn’t take it anymore. “Fuckin A, you want to elaborate, Cas?”

 

“This is a ritual called the Purificato per manum Dei. It’s ancient; It must be performed once daily for seven consecutive days.”

 

“Why seven?” asked Dean.

 

“Seven is the number of days it took God to form Creation.  We have most of the things we need for the ritual. The rest we can find fairly easily. But there is risk. There is a chance Sam won’t survive this, Dean.”

 

Dean closed his eyes and thought. Right now there was a one hundred percent chance that Sam was going to die. This would at least give them some hope of him surviving; however, it wasn’t his right to make this decision for Sam. He would have to choose, but Dean needed to know everything first.

 

“What’s the risk? What could happen that makes this dangerous?”

 

Castiel furrowed his brow in concentration. “It is rather unclear. From what I can see, it is completely effective if the subject survives. The text says the subject of the ritual will be completely cleansed of any evil, whether it is physical, spiritual, or mental. Those touched by the ritual are touched by the hand of God and purified through suffering. It doesn’t specify what kind of suffering, but I gather that the suffering is what had killed subjects in the past. It’s vague, but it is the only thing that we have found that is powerful enough to cleanse demon blood from a person’s body.”

 

“Good enough for me. I gotta go talk to Sam. See if you can round up the stuff for this, okay?”

 

Dean walked off to Sam’s bedroom and the others scattered around the bunker to round up the needed materials.

 

* * * * *

 

Castiel stood up straight, dusting chalk off of his hands and examined his handiwork. A complex symbol was drawn on the ground; a circle with elegant symbols and sigils from the earliest days of Christianity. It was beautiful, full of twisting spirals that flowed like waves in an ocean. They surrounded an elaborate crucifix in the center of the array. In front of the elaborate design was a fire-pit that Dean and Crowley had built; the ingredients had to be thrown into an open flame.

 

Dean lifted his brother from the cot in the corner and carried him into the circle, Sam's fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt. Dean stopped in the circle and gave his brother a squeeze. "You ready?"

 

Sam looked at him with eyes that seemed to big for his face and nodded. Dean set him in the middle of the circle and helped Sam bathe his skin in a mixture of olive oil, sage, and lavender to cleanse him externally. Sam's arms shook and Dean tried to do most of the work for him, trying not to think about what might be about to happen. Sam lay down on the ground and Dean gave his brother a reassuring squeeze before he got up and walked to the fire. He filled it with Palo Santo, a holy wood from Peru.

 

As Dean worked on building the fire, Castiel walked around the sigil on the floor, spilling a circle of holy oil on the edges. He poured a little of the sacred oil on the branches and Dean lit them with a match. The flame shot up, illuminating them all and casting dancing shadows on the walls. Castiel began to throw ingredients in the holy fire. The feather of an angel, holy water from the river Jordan, salt from the Dead Sea, pure iron, and desert sage. When the final ingredient was thrown in, the fire changed from orange flame to pure white. Castiel took his cue and picked up a bundle of braided sage and lavender dipped in the oil of an olive branch, placing one end in the circle of holy oil. The former angel carefully placed the other end of the bundle in the fire pit. The sage instantly caught fire, lighting the circle of holy fire around Sam.

 

The ring of fire around Sam was raging, circling slowly around his body. 

 

Dean held the book in trembling hands and shouted the incantation over the sound of the roaring flames. “Manu Dei omnipotentis solium tuum de cælis, et ad fidelium animae puer attigit. Imple eos puram, suffundens caecae lux.” Sam began to sweat; his eyes flickered and rolled into the back of his head.

 

“Transi ab iis omne immundum, omnis impius influance omnis infectio per mentis et spiritus et sanguis. Expélle eos daemonum suorum.” His body bowed and he began to writhe on the floor.

 

Dean's voice trembled. Every instinct screamed for him to stop, but he knew this was the only way to save his brother.“Munda cor eorum ceciderunt et pura et munda sit. Marcus hanc materiam vestris, o Deus, fortis, et auferam de omni angustia. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.”

 

For a moment everything was silent, the wind coming to a standstil. Then Sam let out a scream that went on and on, and the fire exploded like a bomb had gone off, whipping around his body in a raging inferno that touched him without burning him, more intense than it had been before. Sam’s eyes flew open, suddenly silent and the holy fire went out in a gentle puff of wind that suddenly breezed across their skin. Dean ran for his brother, terrified and was sickened by what he saw when he dropped to his knees next to his brother. Sam was sweating blood, rivulets of it coming from his pores.

 

“Sammy?” Dean's voice sounded broken even to his own ears. Sam let out a moanand he lowered himself on the floor next to him. He brushed his hair out of his face as tears spilled from his brother’s eyes, turning pink with blood and dripping to the floor. "Can you move?" he asked. Sam nodded slowly and Dean hauled up.

“C’mon buddy, I got you,” Dean whispered. He gathered his little brother in his arms and carried him to the shower. Sam couldn’t stand on his own, and Dean bathed his shaking body then carried him to bed. When he was asleep and Dean looked down at himself, he was covered in blood. How many times in one lifetime should he be covered in his own brother’s blood?

Dean peeled off his bloodstained shirts with shaking hands and started to cry, hot tears spilling down his cheeks as he banged his head against the wall in frustration and then stayed there, forehead to cool plaster. Like a flash, Castiel was there, his guardian angel was still watching over him. Dean just looked into his beautiful blue eyes for a moment before tears once again blurred his vision. The next thing Dean knew, he was in Cas’ arms. Dean broke down; he couldn’t handle the thought of losing Sam. Not again. Cas just held him close, so strong and warm, arms wrapped around his waist. Dean returned Castiel’s embrace and Cas held him until his tears dried up. Cas led him to his bed where he collapsed. When his angel turned to leave, Dean grabbed his wrist. “Please, stay.”

 

Cas didn’t say anything he just climbed into the bed and held Dean. The hunter’s last thought before slipping into a dreamless sleep was that this wasn’t even close to over. There were still six more days.

 

* * * * *

 

This ritual was worse than Hell for Dean. Every day Sam had to endure a new horror; the next time Dean had spoken the invocation, Sam had been thrown around the circle, beaten by an unseen force. The bruises and broken bones were horrific. On the third day, an array of puncture wounds and gashes appeared on his brother’s forehead before he was engulfed in the flames that never burned him.

 

After they cleaned him up, careful of his broken arm, and put him to bed, Castiel pulled the other men into the kitchen. They all poured a tumbler of whiskey and drank deeply, except for Cas.

 

“What the fuck is happening to him?” Dean asked, his voice unsteady.

 

Cas drank and then spoke softly as if afraid to startle the hunter. “It’s stigmata.”

 

“Stigmata?” asked Dean. “What, you mean like Jesus wounds, right?”

 

“Sam is experiencing the suffering of Christ. Every day he develops a new wound, the same wounds Christ suffered during the crucifixion. This is why many of the subjects of the ritual haven’t survived; they weren’t strong enough.”

 

Dean closed his eyes tightly. “Is he going to make it, Cas?”

 

Cas was silent for a moment, his eyes dark. “I honestly don’t know, Dean.” The room was quiet again as everyone drank away their fears.

 

The next day, Sam was whipped by an unseen force. It had gone on for what seemed like an eternity, lash after lash being cut into his back as Dean repeatedly tried to run into the circle and was thrown back by an invisible barrier. Sam had screamed and screamed as his flesh was destroyed. Every sound ripped from his brother made him want to die. By the time it was over, his back looked like raw hamburger. Dean didn’t want to continue. He raged at the idea, but no matter how loud he screamed Sam refused to stop.

That night Dean sat of the floor next to his bed, reading a book to him in the lamplight. Sam croaked his brother’s name and Dean stopped reading, glancing at him. Sam looked at his older brother through blackened eyes and spoke through the agony of his split lip, lying on his stomach because his back was too damaged.

 

“I have to do this, Dean.”

 

Dean opened his mouth to argue, and let the poison roll off his tongue, but Sam cut him off. “Dean, all my life I’ve had this... affliction. This evil inside of me. And now I can have it removed. I don't want to keep going with the darkness inside of me. I want it gone. So please, just stop. Let me decide."

 

Dean was going to argue, but Sam's words were trailing as he fell asleep. Dean knew there was no winning this argument. Sam had his choices stripped from him too many times. This was his choice. 

 

On the fifth day, as the fire consumed Sam’s battered body, nail wounds appeared through each wrist. They were huge and you could see straight through them. Sam was weakening. Dean kept watch over him all night, his thoughts a whispered litany of  _just hold on, Sammy_ , as Cas stood like a sentinel in the doorway, watching over them both.

 

On the sixth day, the nail wounds appeared through his feet. That night, Sam’s breathing was a shallow death rattle. Dean drank his way through a fifth of Jameson’s and passed out. He had nightmares about Sam dying all night, and Castiel woke him and held his shuddering frame as he cried; tears of his own pooling in his blue eyes.

 

On the dawn of the seventh day, Sam was barely hanging on. Dean carried him to the array and gently lay him down. He knew if Sam didn't get back up, he wouldn't survive it. As he stood, Sam grabbed the amulet around his neck and pulled him down. “If this doesn’t end well, Dean -”“

 

He was cut off as Dean pulled him into a gentle hug., his stomach turning in anxiety “I know Sammy,” he whispered. The unspoken ‘I love you’ hung in the air between them. They didn’t have to say it, they already knew. Sam’s eyes filled with tears and he squeezed him tighter. Dean never wanted to let go, but Sam pushed him feebly to make him stand.

 

“Do it, Dean.”

 

Dean gave Sam a final squeeze and stepped back to begin the ritual. Dean was finished the chant, voice shaking and for a moment nothing happened. The room was silent. Sam began to scream until his voice gave out from the sheer agony of it as the final wound was ripped into his battered flesh; a long jagged puncture wound where the spear pierced the side of Christ, now cut into his Sam's side. Blood pooled from his mouth and the light began to leave his eyes.

 

Dean ran for the circle, terrified when the fire began to consume Sam. The light was brighter than it had been any time before. The earth began to quake violently. A high pitched noise filled the room, so strong the brick walls cracked and all the glass shattered. A beam of light landed on Sam and he floated off the ground. The fire swirled around and around, getting smaller and smaller, wrapping against his skin. Dean looked on in amazement; every wound Sam had suffered was being healed, skin and sinew knitting back together as if nothing had happened. The fire concentrated into a pulsing ball of light that halted in front of Sam’s chest.

 

Dean felt a hand close around his. It was Castiel. The former angel’s mouth was open in shock and awe, and he was holding Dean’s hand like a vice. Dean tore his eyes away and looked back to his little brother. The light was hovering closer to his chest. His face was lit up and his hair was blowing in a breeze that blew only for him. The ball pulsed with pure energy as it moved closer to Sam. It pressed to his skin over his heart and began to absorb into Sam’s body. Sam screamed. There was a shockwave that blasted from around his little brother like a nuke had gone off. Everyone was knocked flat on their backs from the blast wave.

 

When they looked up, Sam was floating slowly back to the ground, eyes closed. When his feet touched the floor, he collapsed, but Dean was there to catch him. Dean was always there to catch his brother.

 

“Sam?” whispered Dean. The younger man’s eyes fluttered open and Dean gasped in relief. Sam looked well; his hair was clean and shining, his skin flawless. He looked as if he had never lost a pound. He was exactly as he had been before the trials. Sam stood up, Dean helping him to his feet. He stretched experimentally and smiled, a huge, face splitting grin.

 

“How do you feel, Sam?” asked Castiel.

 

“Really good,” replied Sam, looking at his hands in wonder.

 

Dean looked at his brother's bare chest and gasped. They all noticed at the same time: Sam had a handprint burned onto his chest, like Dean’s, but three times the size of a human hand.

 

Castiel approached, eyes wide and awestruck, placing his own hand over the mark in wonder. “This is the hand of God, Sam.”

 

They all looked awestruck but no one looked as happy as Sam. The boy with the demon blood, the boy who had always felt like a monster, was finally pure.

 

**********

 

Dean watched Castiel field strip his weapon for the third time in a row. His scarred fingers were strong and capable, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reconstructed the gun with silent intent. Deans watched the other man’s long fingers dance over the steel, entranced.

 

It had been two weeks since the cleansing ritual had been completed. Sam was doing great; better than Dean could have dared to hope for. Better than he deserved. It was as if the trials had never happened, except for Sam's mood. He'd never seemed so at peace. There had been zero news on the fallen angels, other than the news reports about the surprise meteor shower. All was quiet, and Dean felt the itch to do something making his skin crawl.

 

They had taken this rare lull to teach Cas and Crowley about humanity and hunting. Crowley was starting to worry Dean. He threw himself into training with an intensity that the hunter had never seen before. He screamed himself awake when he tried to sleep, and drank even more than Dean ever had, even on his worst day. Dean had no idea what to do for him. How can you being to help a man whose done the things he'd done. Dean couldn't even deal with his own issues enough to sleep at night. 

 

On the other hand, Cas was shaping up to be a damn fine hunter. He no longer panicked about nightmares and had adjusted to needing to eat and sleep. With his vast stores of knowledge about lore and his centuries of combat experience, his training was more a matter of fine tuning than anything. There was none of the awkwardness that Cas had around people the last time he had tried to hunt. Humanity suited him well. Dean always thought there was too much humanity in him to be an angel anyway.

 

Cas set the slide back into place and cock his newly reassembled gun in a quick movement. "Good job," he said.

  
The other man smiled at him, running his fingers through his already messy hair. Since the ritual they had started sleeping in their own beds most nights. But some nights when Dean tossed and turned and dreamed of nothing but graveyard dirt and darkness, Cas would crawl wordlessly into bed with him and he would sleep, curled around the warmth of the other man. Cas had his own room, but every night he stumbled through Dean's door. He didn't know what they were, and he didn't question it. He was happy with this, and if it led to more, he would be happy with that too. 

 

Sam entered the room and stepped over Dean's legs so he could sit between the two men. He flopped down onto the couch, long limbs taking up more space then should be allowed.

 

Dean smiled and his brother, nudging him to try and get more space. "Think you could leave us some room, asshole?"

 

Sam smiled wider and put his feet on the table. "Nope,” he said cheerfully.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and nudged his foot so it slipped off the coffee table.

 

They sat and watched the tv together for a moment while Cas finished putting his gun back together before Same spoke again.

  
“Garth called. We have a case."

 

Dean perked with interest at the news. He was tired of sitting idle. Might as well do anything. Sam pulled out his phone and opened the file Garth had sent them. His brow furrowed as he spoke, eyes intense. 

 

"Demonic omens are cropping up across the country. More than we've seen since the Devil's Gate was opened. We're pretty sure Abaddon has taken over Hell. She’s up to something. Everywhere these omens are cropping up, people are showing up dead."

 

Dean frowned at the news as Cas scrolled through the information. "Is there any connection between the victims?"

 

"One," said Sam, raising one finger to emphasize it. "All of the victims were entered in the missing persons database within the last five years, then they randomly turned up dead in places they had no reason to be. "

 

"Any theories?" asked Dean. Sam shrugged his broad shoulders, the worry mark on his forehead deepening.

 

"Maybe they were in hiding? Made a crossroads deal and ran when the bill came due, then Abaddon sent demons for them?"

 

"Maybe," said Dean, "Seems like a solid theory. We should take off and look for -"

 

"Dean," Castiel's voice interrupted, sharp and strained. Dean's head whipped around to look at the other man. His beautiful blue eyes were huge and round, his face pale. He was holding the phone in unsteady hands; it looked like he might be sick at any moment.

 

Dean was there in an instant, arm around his shoulders. "Easy, Cas. What's wrong?"

 

Horror and pain radiated from Castiel's bones. He took a deep breath showed them the spread the pictures on the screen. He pointed at a picture of a woman in her mid-twenties with red hair and brown eyes.

 

"This is Aria. She was in a different garrison that specialized in healing," His fingers next traced the picture of a middle aged man. "This is Barnabas," Next came a teenage boy, "and this is Ophaniel, " Each time his fingers touched a picture he rattled off a different name, his eyes filled with sadness.

 

He watched as Sam and Dean's faces darkened with understanding as Cas scrolled through twenty or more pictures. "The angels,” he said voice trembling with barely concealed rage. “Abaddon is slaughtering them all.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've spent about four years on this fic so I hope you enjoy it. Beta read by @spacefucker. Thanks to @mywolfpulledheavendown for making sure I stuck with this when I was ready to abandon it.


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